


Persephone's Promise

by LifesDarkFire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Letters, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 00:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifesDarkFire/pseuds/LifesDarkFire
Summary: "I remember how your hand felt, coasting over the tops of my fingers as we whispered sweet nothings into the humid days of July."A story of love told by two letters and a daughter.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	1. Summer Queen

I remember the feel of your hand, soft heated velvet, coasting over the tops of my fingers as we whispered sweet nothings into the humid days of July. Those days seem so far away now, vague snatches of a memory unfinished, a story started at once upon a time with the ending ripped out. I half wonder if I dreamed them up, drunk on the closeness of your presence, high on our stolen glances and carefully plotted brushes. But I remember the nights, those glorious nights of half broken whispers and unspoken promises hidden between the rustle of silk sheets.  
I cling to them, like I clung to you so long ago my face buried in that sweet place where your shoulder joined your neck begging you to stay just a few minutes longer. But, unlike you, my memories let me hold them closer they do not gently kiss each fingertip, each eyelid, each worry line etched in my face, nor do they lay me gently on the bed and wait until I feign sleep to leave. My memories are so much crueler. They fade slowly; I begin to forget what you whispered in my ear when I fell into you on accident. I begin to forget what your lips tasted like after we had drunk too much dandelion wine and lay sprawled out on the grass underneath the stars.  
  
I do remember, fiercely, possessively, the first time you told me you loved me. It had been only four weeks into our courtship of brief touches, heated glances and fumbled words. You handed me a piece of parchment, covered in ink with a tea stain on the right-hand corner, clenched your fists and released them slowly as you blurted out, "I- appreciate your work Ms. Granger." Right as you said my name, your voice caressing it gently with inflection, your lips working around it slowly, I knew. Our eyes met over that flimsy parchment that shook with the violence of my hand. Gulping, gasping, I nodded, head bobbing up and down, jaw slack. The echo of your office door slamming is still etched in my memory. I wonder if you knew that I stood outside that door and traced the wood worked seams, etching each and every dip and sway into my memory fearful that it would be the last time I saw it. The last time I saw you.  
  
It was only two weeks later that you found me, covered in dust, consumed with the desire to arrange each and every specimen in your storage room. I thought that if I did, then perhaps I could slide my every feeling for you into careful predetermined slots. Without speaking, you took the parchment and quill away, brought my hands before you. Turning them over slowly you caressed my palms with the pads of your thumbs pausing only to dab a bit of lotion into the center and slowly, meticulously you covered every centimeter with your sweet-smelling remedy to paper cuts and calluses. When you were done you let out a long, tortured sigh that broke in the middle and I grabbed your hands to pull you closer. You stumbled, your foot catching on air, your lips crashing into mine. I think you mumbled something about Gryffindor courage paying off as we left the storage room, righting bits of clothing and pressing gingerly against swollen lips.  
  
Three days, three days of unbearable torture lasted until we gave in. Our wayward glances, and brief interludes locked in your storage room could not compare to the night we shared, devoured by our own desires. I could still taste the tang of the night's air on my lips as I memorized each ragged breath and broken whisper you kissed into my ear. I woke the next morning, to the smell of fresh roses laying next to me on your pillow and breakfast lying on the side table. You told me, later on, that you had been terrified that I would wake up and realize everything had been a horrid mistake in the light of day. I hope that I convinced you that you were wrong, that my only mistake was loving you too much.  
Those summer months passed sluggishly, like the sweet honey we drizzled over our pancakes as we ate breakfast in bed and wasted the day away memorizing each dip and curve of each other's body. But summer could last for only so long until reality began to intrude again.  
  
That is one memory I wish I could forget. Watching you pace the small confines of your storage room, bright patches of pale pink on your cheeks as you shouted and waved your hands about. I begged you to listen, fell on my knees to entreat you, but you would not stop pacing. You demanded to know why I had to leave so abruptly, demanded to know why I a witch of my ranking and intellect would wish to quit her apprenticeship nine months early. I could not tell you, even when you lifted me from where I knelt, placed me on a stool and kissed my knees, my hands, my face. Then you, you damnable man sank to your own knees, kissed my hands again and begged. You, Severus, you begged me to at least tell you why I was leaving. I began to cry; hot rivers of tears, but you simply hushed me and wiped each one away with your thumb. Even after all of this I could not tell you, I could not explain why, I could only promise you to return. I promised I would return nine months later. I still remember the sound you made as you sank down on your heels and buried your face in your hands. I tried to reach out for you, to comfort you, as I so often did when you awoke from your nightmares, but you flinched away from my touch. You pointed to the door and gave me a strangled smile as you choked out, "Honor Persephone's promise." I left you there, kneeling upon the floor, and as I clicked the door shut I heard the sound of a thousand pieces of glass splintering against the doorway.  
  
It's been nine months since I last saw you, nine months since I kissed the dimple that appears on your right cheek when you smile. Nine months since I heard you speak my name, slowly softly. I have honored Persephone's promise, and I return to you, as she returned to Hades. But instead of plunging the world into winter, I come with the beginning of summer, I come with the springtime and I come with the reason why I left so abruptly. She's almost a month old now; her eyes are a beautiful hazel that shine brighter than the sun in the right light. Her hair is a soft, wavy black, and she has the ten most perfect fingers and toes. She loves when I tell her our story, and giggles when I say your name aloud.  
  
Her name is Persephone.


	2. Dark King

Unlike you, I remember what I whispered into your ear when you fell into me on accident, and I remember the bittersweet taste of your lips still laced with dandelion wine. I remember each and every detail as surely as I had placed them into a Pensieve. And, unlike you, I wish I had dreamt them up, wish that I could wake up and walk into my office and see you sitting at my desk in my chair, as you so liked to do, drinking a hot cup of tea reading the Daily Prophet. I remember each small memory, from the way you nibble on your lower lip in concentration, or how you stir two lumps of sugar into your tea three times in a clockwise pattern, or how my name tasted on your lips.

I remember, a drowsy Sunday, when the sun leaked through the window and lit my bedroom with its rich amber glow. It was on that Sunday with you warm in my arms that I told you of my childhood and my obsession with Greek myths. Your head on my chest, and my fingers tangled in your hair you listened as I told you of my love for Helen of Troy, and the cursed Cassandra or my idolization of Hercules and Jason. You laughed in that breathless way that made me want to drag you closer and never let you go as you guessed that it must be the Iliad or the Odyssey. But, Homer never did for me what the story of Hades and Persephone told. You gasped in pleasure when I told you this, wrapped your arms around me in an embrace as you confessed that it was your favorite too and we spent the whole day reading from various books the different retellings of the dark king and his summer queen.

It felt ironic, if felt like the world's cruelest joke when you left me. The hollow echo that you would return resounding in that closed space. I never meant to say, "Honor Persephone's promise." Those words, those words dragged themselves upwards until they came spilling forth from my throat. In a desperate attempt I hoped they would make you stay, that you would feel a connection to me, that you would feel something strong enough to root you to the spot. But, you left, the deafening click of the door your final goodbye. I broke more than one bottle against that door and Minerva is still angry with me for ordering a whole new supply of ingredients right before the term started.

It's been nine months since you left.

You stupid, stupid girl, you left because of a child? Not just a child, no, our child. Do you think me cruel enough to turn you aside when you have given me the most precious gift of all? Did you remember that casual remark I made of how I did not want children? I did not want children because I feared I would become the same man my father was, that I would not be capable of loving them as they so deserved. But do you not realize that I will love our child? That I already do love her as I love you. You showed me that, you showed me that I was capable of love. Hermione, I love you. Is that enough? Can it be enough for you? For me to finally say those three words, to finally declare it not through action alone. In three days’ time I will meet you again, and I will prove to you Hermione, that I love you both.

That is my promise.


	3. Winter's Child

It was on my parent's sixtieth wedding anniversary that I learned their greatest secret. They always said there was a secret for a union as perfect as theirs and no matter how or what my brothers and I guessed we never got it right. Looking back now, I don't see how we could have or how it really would have mattered if we had guessed right but it does explain why we're all named after Greek myths.  
My mother, always the perfectionist, had asked me to go find her pearl necklace that my father had bestowed to her on their first anniversary. She winked at me and said that it would melt my father's heart to see that she still cherished the small freshwater pearls strung on a thin sterling silver chain.

Mother kept all her jewelry in a wooden box with so many drawers you'd never run out of space to put things in, which is exactly why she bought it. It was when I was pulling those drawers open, searching frantically for the cherished necklace that I came across two envelopes. My father always said that I inherited my mother's thirst of knowledge and her annoying quality of curiosity. I can't even begin to count the times that he would find me lost among the many corridors of Hogwarts searching for a way back to our quarters when a talkative painting, friendly ghost or strange noise lead me astray. It was that childhood curiosity that had me glancing over my shoulder as I slowly opened the two envelopes and retrieved two very creased, tear stained, ink smudged letters.  
I read both letters, twice, and realized that this was their secret. That my mother had left in fear that my father would reject her once he knew she was pregnant with his child. Pregnant with me. I had always known when I was a child that there was something a little bit different about me then my brothers Jason and Ajax, but I thought that was because I was the only girl. At bedtime both my parents would linger a little longer saying goodnight to me and my birthdays were blown far out of proportion. Although, looking back, all of our birthdays were blown far out of proportion.

I still remember when my mother was pregnant with Jason; I was three years old and far too accustomed to being an only child. I hated the thought of a baby coming in and stealing all of my parent's attention away from me. I remember how mad I got at my father when he would suddenly drop anything that he was doing when my mother came into the room glowing with the ethereal light only pregnancy can grace. He would see her lighting up the room and would rush over just to place his hands on her growing belly to feel the baby kick, or to whisper "I love you" against it. Even after Jason was born and my mother became pregnant again this time with Ajax, when I was six and Jason three, my father would drop anything he held in order to rush to her side.  


I carefully folded the letters again and placed them gently inside their envelopes and slowly shut the drawer on them. Outside of the bedroom door I could hear the deep rumble of my father's voice and my mother's laugh in return. I knew that he must have told her he loved her, a habit that was in force for longer than I could remember. My father told my mother he loved her three times a day and every time he did, she would laugh, and kiss him in response. I knew why, after reading those letters, they had that small ritual and I smiled at it all. I opened another drawer and found my mother's pearl necklace nestled on top of a cleaning cloth. Lifting it up I watched momentarily as it caught the sunlight and for a moment, I could see a rich amber glow fill the room, but, soon after, the moment was gone and I returned to my mother's side necklace in hand.

She stood nestled into my father's side, both gazing into each other's eyes with so much love it almost hurt to look at them they were shining so brightly. I handed over the necklace to my father who brushed my mother's hair away from her neck and gently clasped it on. I watched the two for a moment before retreating to my own husband who stood by my brother Ajax talking about the next quidditch world cup. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother watching me, tears filling her eyes, but my father caught her face in his own hands and gently brushed them away before they could fall. He placed his forehead against her own and whispered softly, "I love you." And for the first time in my memory my mother did not quietly laugh, instead, she smiled and whispered the endearment back.

Sealing it with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to fanfiction.net years ago.  
> Decided to start writing again, posting some of my old stories before I start on new ones.  
> I hope you enjoy.


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